


since you have let yourself in

by supercilious



Series: Sunspots [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Game), Inception (2010)
Genre: (-ish), Alternate Universe, But not on purpose, Character Study, Crossover, Frottage, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Sexual Content, i am bad at tags pls advise, well it's almost a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercilious/pseuds/supercilious
Summary: "After so many years, some things become second nature. Almost as simple as breathing; knowing the best way to jump to dodge a rocket blast, the optimum distance for a shotgun kill, the way to pull enemies together to tag them with one grenade. You learn, and you adjust, and the great thing about functional immortality is the fatal mistakes aren't always as fatal as they should be."Or rather, a quick look at a day in the life of Eames the Titan and that annoying Hunter he hangs around with.





	

After so many years, some things become second nature. Almost as simple as breathing; knowing the best way to jump to dodge a rocket blast, the optimum distance for a shotgun kill, the way to pull enemies together to tag them with one grenade. You learn, and you adjust, and the great thing about functional immortality is the fatal mistakes aren't always as  _ fatal _ as they should be.

 

There's an easy rise and fall to his chest, breath even as he picks off acolytes instead of the wild, frantic breathing when he'd first been called to action, as it were. Pulse thundering in his ears as he ran and dove through the forests on Venus, hands steady but still struggling to find targets as he tried to cut his way through Fallen and Vex at his Ghost’s urging, panicked as it hacked into a piece of crap that barely classed as a jumpship and had him worried it’d explode and leave him stranded in space the whole way to the Tower.

 

(Eames has a much nicer ship now, courtesy of Dead Orbit. Sleek and fast and Ariadne had jokingly called it ‘vintage’ once - they'd long since stopped building that model by the time she arrived.)

 

This is simple enough, barely taking up more thought than considering whether to engage directly when his ghost chirps up, voice a whisper when it speaks even though it's direct through his comms rather than out loud.

 

“Arthur just landed near the Hellmouth. Should I see if he wants to join us?”

 

“Yeah-- go ahead, Cal,” he responds, voice hushed for entirely legitimate reasons, standing long enough to hurl a grenade from the ridge he's posted up on, “send our co-ordinates over.”

 

It's a few minutes before there's any response - which is fine by Eames, gives him enough time to finish off the last few Hive milling around the entrance to the temple and find a better vantage point to watch from - and when it comes, it's the  _ dulcet tones _ of gunfire, a sparrow, and Arthur asking approximately a thousand questions about what Eames is up to as if he  _ still _ isn't entirely sure that Eames knows what he's doing.

 

It isn't until Eames cuts him off with a bored, “are you coming or not?” That Arthur ends his questioning, response a simple, “yeah, yeah. Almost there,” and he cuts the call, leaving Eames to watch for any enemy activity while he waits.

 

Most things, he's learned to take in stride. The familiar burst of smoke that comes with a shadestep, Arthur appearing behind him out of seemingly nowhere, is not one of those things. No matter how many times it happens, Eames feels his heart leap into his throat, whole body jerking in a brief panic. _Every_ _fucking time_.

 

He can feel the smug amusement rolling off Arthur, though not as much as when Eames had fallen off a cliff in shock and ended up  _ understandably grouchy _ after his resurrection, even through the helmet it's practically obvious in his body language.

 

Thankfully he doesn't  _ say _ anything about it, giving a moment’s pause for Eames to get himself back together before he inquiries after what he's doing with a point of his gun toward the temple. “You said something about a wizard?”

 

“Sitting on a crystal of some kind,” Eames responds, a casual shrug as he pretends not to notice Arthur looking him up and down, no doubt in silent judgement of the patterns on his armour, “planning to see if Yusuf can work it into some gauntlets for me.”

 

The quiet is heavy with judgement, and Eames cants his head, a teasing lilt in his voice, “might be something he can throw together for you too.”

 

“Yeah, no thanks. Last thing I need is Hive magic blowing up in my face.”

 

“Says the guy with Vex guns in his bedroom.”

 

Eames is gone before Arthur can respond, a graceful descent down the side of the cliff so they can get moving. Thankfully the comms are open, so he hears Arthur's annoyed scoff in his ears before he follows. A noise that always brings him a slight bloom of delight.

 

\--

 

Getting the crystal is easy enough once there's two of them; having backup means Eames can throw caution to the wind, scout rifle swapped out for shotgun and fists. A brutal efficiency to the way he lands in a cluster of tethered Hive, (thank you, Arthur,) ground crackling with residual arc energy as he readies his shotgun and makes quick work of those at the fringes. Careful, always careful to listen when Arthur tells him to duck or dodge and a shot rings out from a distance, leaving dead knights in its wake.

 

(The unexpected-but-really- _ should- _ have-been-expected ogre takes a little more work, isn't quite so effortless, but they manage with only one death between the two of them. Eames makes a joke about him needing to practice his shadestep and Arthur ‘accidentally’ sticks a smoke grenade to Eames back as they progress.)

 

Sorely lacking in patience, but well-stocked on ammo, rockets take out the wizard quickly while machine gun fire dispatches anything left. Eames’ ghost finds the crystal tucked away in a corner of the cavern, alongside the hilt of a Knight’s sword he decides to take too. Just in case.

 

\--

 

The most annoying thing about being a Titan is the armour. Not that Eames doesn't appreciate the metal plating when it comes down to it, being the sort who often ends up right in the thick of it means the added protection is a blessing, but he does envy the manoeuvrability of leather and denim. The way it must feel fantastically unladen compared to the heavy weight Eames is  _ really _ only ever aware of when he thinks about it.

 

It's also difficult to take off in a pinch.

 

This much he notes for the millionth time as he pulls one of Arthur’s gloves off with his teeth, Arthur’s free hand searching out Eames’ side with a frustrated grunt when he can’t find the right catch or strap for his armour, and there’s not enough room in the tiny cockpit of Eames’ jumpship for him to do it himself. It takes a lot of banging and arguing just to get them both shirtless, and Eames laughs when his ghost’s voice comes in over the radio, impatiently asking if they’re done yet.

 

(Which is an improvement on its attitude, truth be told. The first time he’d had sex, the first time he can remember anyway - the actions and the feelings were just as familiar to him as that of writing, despite having no idea where that experience came from, but after some heavy flirtations with a fellow Titan he’d been very eager to add some memories he’d be able to call on later. It was all great until his ghost came flying in, a burst of white light asking if Eames was okay and rambling about an elevated heart rate before it settled enough to spot his head between a pair of very strong and  _ very  _ annoyed thighs.)

 

“We haven’t even started yet,” Eames responds, breathless, “keep scouting the ridge. I’ll let you know.”

 

There’s a pointed sigh from his ghost before the radio clicks off, and Arthur practically smashes their faces together once he’s not occupied  _ talking _ anymore. He hastily pulls at the clasps and catches for the plating around Eames’ thighs while Eames works Arthur’s pants open, armour carelessly shoved aside wherever it’ll fit around their feet - except Arthur’s cloak, the tasteful black and purple laid out across the console - and the second they’re satisfied enough with their state of undress Eames presses a hand to Arthur’s lower back to pull his hips closer.

 

Probably, they do this too much. Almost certainly. Because Arthur knows the right way to tilt his head to avoid smashing it against the window, the way to roll his hips against Eames’ to keep his back away from the console. When Eames slips a hand between them, fingers stroking along the side of Arthur’s dick before he shifts his hips and takes them both in his grip, he instinctively moves his arm at the right angle to avoid hitting his elbow on anything in the cockpit.

 

It’s all rushed and frantic, both of them looking to get off before the high from taking out all those Hive wears off, so Eames has no compunctions about spitting into his palm to make the whole thing a little smoother. They just don’t have the time to wait for precum to do its thing here. Either way it’s not like it ruins the moment, Arthur dipping his head to kiss along the underside of Arthur’s jaw, both of them letting out soft moans as they rock their hips up into Eames’ hand.

 

He always knows when Arthur’s close, because it’s suddenly like he needs every possible sense occupied at once. Presses his body flush against Eames’ and kisses him hard and messy, rolls his hips hard into his hand and breathes a shuddering moan when Eames sweeps a thumb over the head of his cock with one hand and grabs his ass with the other.

 

“Eames--” his ghost’s voice crackles, sudden and met by a noise of pure annoyance, distorted by panic, “there’s a walker coming in.”

 

Excellent timing. Fantastic. Eames bites his lip to hold back a moan before he answers, voice strained and heavy, “can’t it wait?”

 

“ _ No. _ ”

 

It is a monumental struggle not to just tell his ghost to leave them alone, looking for the best thing to say to stall for a couple of moments when he’s thrown by a soft groan against his neck and a shudder from the man in his lap. Because the addition to this moment that Eames was looking for right now was  _ clearly _ cum on his hand.

 

He looks down at the mess on his hand, back up to the look of smug satisfaction on Arthur’s face because they both know Eames doesn’t have the time to finish here. (Honestly he half suspects Arthur forced that orgasm out purely just so he’d get one and Eames wouldn’t.) He sighs, reaching for his mark to clean off his hand.

 

“Do you ever bring me any good news?”

 

“Ariadne beat your high score score in Control this morning.”

 

“Great. Thanks.” Eames exhales heavily through his nose, the kind of expression that’d have jets of steam from both nostrils in a cartoon, a moment of silence for his pure, tired resignation. “We’ll be there in a minute.”


End file.
